


A Fault in the Weather

by DevilRising



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Case Fic, Colleagues to Lovers, Community: hp_drizzle, Fred Weasley Lives, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Hand Jobs, Hogwarts, M/M, Magic Theory, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, magic lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilRising/pseuds/DevilRising
Summary: Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes have brought out a new item: a Portable Swamp. As one of their most trusted amateur prototype testers, Harry is ecstatic to get this latest object. The only problem is that it... doesn’t seem to work. It’s generating storm clouds that sweep through the Hogwarts corridors, and showering the students with rain, hail, and snow. The storms are getting stronger, but Charms Professor Malfoy and DADA Professor Potter are on the case.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 202
Collections: HP Drizzle Fest 2020





	A Fault in the Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xanthippe74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthippe74/gifts).



> I was so excited to see this prompt, and I jumped at it. I hope I have done it justice! 
> 
> I’d like to thank my beta diamondpride for making sure this isn’t a complete and utter mess. Any remaining mistakes are my own. I’d like to add that I brought forward the publication date to correspond with the fest ending and reveals, so if you’re seeing this again thinking “I know I’ve read this!” you’re probably right.
> 
> Disclaimers: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made. And no copyright infringement is intended.

**7:34am, 24th of November, 2015**

Harry eyes the wooden box in his doorway with an equal mix of suspicion and anticipation. Not many people send him things that manage to get past his mail wards, so he immediately knows who’s sent it. Aside from Christmas and birthday presents, the only other time he gets anything is when the Weasley twins send him a new experiment. Fred and George use him as their prototype tester, and have ever since Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes outgrew just the two of them. Harry always looks forward to the deliveries, but this one is slightly different than the others.

Normally, a prototype box would arrive in a bright pink and orange crate, with ‘WWW’ written on all sides in white, blocky script. This box doesn’t have that though. The wood etched with simple waves is just sitting there, right on Harry’s doorstep, waiting to be opened. Who is Harry to deny it it’s sole purpose in life? 

He steps through the door and crouches to pick up the box. It’s heavy in his hands despite its relatively small size, almost like it’s full of water. As he carries it into his quarters, he realises it probably is. Harry scrambles for his wand and  _ Accio _ ’s a calendar towards him. It’s the last week of November; the week he had been promised it would arrive. He’s even more excited now—if that was even possible—and practically jumps up and down despite the early hour as he lays it out on his dining table. If there is ever a way to cheer up his Tuesday, a surprise prototype from the Weasley twins is exactly the right thing. It helps that it fits right into his lesson plans for next week. 

Harry grins as he walks straight back out into the hallway and turns to the door next to his. He raises his hand and knocks sharply three times. 

“Potter,” Draco says a moment later as he opens the door, greeting him with a yawn. 

Harry smirks at the Charms Professor and pulls him out of his rooms. “The new box arrived,” he fills him in. “It’s the one I was waiting for.”

“The swamp one?” Draco scoffs. “I’m sure you  _ were _ waiting for the chance to get back to where you truly belong.” 

Harry drives his elbow into Draco’s ribs and tugs him into his own rooms. 

Draco instantly spots the box on the table and his face pales. “And you’re  _ sure _ this thing is safe?” 

Harry snorts at him. “Of course not, it’s Fred and George’s!”

Draco groans but pulls out one of the chairs and flops gracefully into it all the same. “Sometimes I curse Fred’s luck for not dying.”

“Hey!” Harry says. “We’re very lucky he survived that explosion.” 

Fred had nearly died in the Battle; indeed, everyone had thought he had. But then his eyebrow had twitched, and he had been rushed to the St Mungo’s emergency department. George had later told Harry that Fred had been in a coma and severely paralysed, and that it’s only thanks to the amazing Healers that his twin is still alive. 

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Draco replies. “So what is the box actually? Apart from a container for the worst biome in the world, of course.”

Harry grins again and launches into an explanation. “It’s called a Portable Swamp, and it’s designed to release a little swamp into an enclosed area. I’m planning to use it to teach my Fifth Years about Palus Snakes!”

Draco scrunches his features up, his pale skin creasing. “Can it be contained?”

“I’ve been assured it can be,” Harry confirms. 

That doesn’t appear to ease Draco’s discomfort though. Harry doesn’t know what else to say, and shuffles in his seat. Deciding to just go for it, he reaches for the wooden box. This is going to be a massive help for his classes, and nothing has ever gone wrong with a prototype before. Harry has absolute faith that this little box will expand into a beautiful swamp, and that everything will be fine. Draco doesn’t, and he makes that very clear. It’s clear to Harry, at least. After working with the blond git for over a decade, Harry can quite confidently say that he can read him very well. And right now he’s thinking there’s no way in hell this will work the way it’s supposed to. 

“Potter, I’m sure you’ve thought of this already, but if you open it on the table you will get mud and water all over your rooms.” 

Harry chews his lip. He hadn’t thought of that. “We’ll open it outside in the hallway then.”

Drac throws his hands up. “If you honestly think I’m playing any part in this, you’ve gone insane.” He shakes his head, presumably at Harry for being an idiot. Harry doesn’t blame him. “I know this started out as a continuation of our schoolboy rivalry, but this is maybe taking it slightly too far.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “ _ Please _ . Nothing’s going to happen!”

“No. Because it’s not going to be opened in the middle of Hogwarts of all bloody places!”

Harry scowls. “Fine. I’ll do it without you.”

He rises from the table and picks up the heavy box. He struggles to carry it out into the corridor, and practically drops it onto the stone floor. Draco follows him, and nudges it with his bare foot carefully. Harry smiles to himself at how easy their friendship has become, for pureblood Draco Malfoy to be barefoot around him. Even if Draco doesn’t hold much importance to pureblood proprietary or traditions anymore. 

“Pansy will kill me if this thing destroys any of her bottles.” 

“She couldn’t care less Malfoy,” Harry chuckles. “She’ll just blame me for it and owl you every single bottle back.”

“You laugh,” Draco says, “but her perfumes and colognes are-”

“The most luxurious fragrances in the Wizarding World,” Harry finishes. “Trust me, I know.”

Draco huffs at him but doesn’t say anything as Harry crouches down next to the box. Harry runs his gaze over the wood, eyes lingering on the waves etched randomly over the box. He finds the fastening and unclips it. 

“Wait!” Draco shouts. 

Harry raises an eyebrow and turns to face him from his knees. His head spins as he looks up at the man above him but ignores the feeling. “What?” He deadpans.

“I need to get changed, and you probably should too.”

“What, why?” Harry can’t believe that Draco is worried about his clothes at a time like this. Actually, no, he absolutely can. 

Draco rolls his eyes, and Harry only just manages to find it in himself to not be offended. “If this thing explodes everywhere, I don’t want to have to fix it while in my dressing gown.”

“Then take it off,” Harry sneers. Heat rushes to his face as he remembers just why Draco can’t do that.

“Oh yes, and walk around naked instead. Brilliant idea Potter!” 

Harry snarls at him and tries not to picture that. “It’s not my fault you sleep naked!” He growls. At the look from Draco, he sighs and gives in. “Whatever, just hurry up about it.”

“You too,” Draco insists. “I don’t want to be seen with you walking around in those ugly things.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my sweatpants and t-shirt, Malfoy.”

Draco shakes his head and pointedly tracks his gaze over Harry’s body. Harry flushes under the attention. “If you’re sure.” 

Draco turns and walks back into his quarters, coming out moments later in blue jeans and a black button up. Some things haven’t changed since their twenties.

“That was fast,” Harry says so he doesn’t have to look at Draco’s legs in tight denim. 

“I’m the Charms Professor, Potter. I didn’t have to actually do anything other than stand there.” 

Harry shrugs at him like that doesn’t matter in the slightest, and gestures to Draco to sit down next to him. Draco screws his nose up but does as he was told. Harry opens his mouth to say something, but is stunned into silence when he’s suddenly stark naked. It only lasts a second though, and then he’s dressed in black jeans and an emerald long-sleeve shirt. His leather jacket appears a moment later, and his mouth falls open. 

“Malfoy.” 

“Potter.” 

The git looks not only proud at his spell work, but also very amused.

Harry feels himself pouting and forces himself to drop the expression. Draco grins at him. “If this thing explodes everywhere, you’ll thank me.” He gestures for him to continue with his speech, not accepting any retort Harry might have had.

He shakes his head but continues nonetheless. “Now, when I open the box, you can apologise for not believing me when I say everything will be fine.” 

Draco laughs. Actually  _ laughs _ at him. “If you’re so confident.” He waves a hand at the fastening, gesturing for Harry to open it. 

Harry smirks and looks back to the box. He clicks the latch and pulls it up, holding the lid down. Draco tuts next to him, telling him to hurry up without even uttering a word. Harry slides his hands around the lip and pulls the lid up on its hinges. There’s a flash of blue, and then water rushes out of the box. The murky water washes over Harry’s hands and he immediately pulls back and stands up. He lurches back as the water continues to exit the box, flooding the stone hallway. It rises quickly, showing no sign of stopping. Draco shouts something indiscernible and lunges for the box, slamming the lid shut.

Harry shivers under his soaked clothes and sighs in relief. But it doesn’t stop there. Draco may have shut the lid, but the water is still escaping somehow. Harry then notices the waves etched onto the side are glowing blue too, and that the mud water is rushing out of them. How a box holds so much water, he has no idea. Draco yells at Harry—something along the lines of “You fucking idiot!”—and whips his wand out. The box doesn’t like that, and the lid explodes off. The hallway floods faster now, swamp water and mud filling the corridor rapidly in the very early morning.

^~^~^

**8:01am**

Draco curses loudly, shouting orders to Harry as he tries to charm the swamp back into the box. This is a disaster, he knew the little box wasn’t to be trusted. Fred and George may have a good track record, but Draco can tell when the charms work hasn’t been done properly. Harry should have trusted him, the idiot. 

Draco fires spell after spell at the wooden box, but nothing seems to be working. He’s covered in slime and water, and he’s never going to get it out of his jeans. They were his favourite too. He swears to himself as he gets drenched again, and he shoots off a spell to slow the output of the box instead of trying to completely cut it off. It doesn’t work either, and Draco resigns himself to the failure. He’s not going to be able to fix this. He stands on shaky legs, knees wobbly as he shivers. 

“I can’t do anything, my spells are bouncing right off.” He hates to admit it to Harry, but he has to be honest about his ability to fix this; especially when it’s happening in a castle full of unsuspecting teenagers. 

Harry swears under his breath and Draco watches as he casts a Patronus charm. Harry’s silvery stag appears, and then it hurtles through the walls as it seeks out Headmistress McGonagall. She’s the only one Harry would have gone to, the only one Harry thinks could save this. Draco hopes he’s right.

While they’re waiting, the hallway fills with more and more water. There doesn’t seem to be anything in it other than mud, and Draco is grateful for that if nothing else. The only thing that could possibly make it worse is if there were eels as well. 

“I’ve definitely won this round, Potter,” he calls out as he spells his shirt dry. There’s no point even trying to do the same to his jeans, so he instead directs the second spell to Harry’s shirt. The hideous Cannons t-shirt deserves to burn, so Draco isn’t going to let it drown instead. 

“No idea what you’re talking about, Malfoy,” Harry replies. “This  _ is _ a swamp, just as promised.”

Draco shakes his head in disbelief. “None of Pansy’s perfumes have ever flooded the castle though, so I think I’m the clear winner here.” He doesn’t point out that it’s more of a marsh than a swamp, wanting to preserve some of Harry’s win.

“Neither of you are winning anything, except maybe a detention shift.” Headmistress McGonagall’s voice booms through the corridor, and Draco snaps back to attention. “This is a nightmare, and needs to be resolved as quickly as possible.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Headmistress. I had no idea this would happen,” Harry rushes to say. 

McGonagall holds up a hand. “You should never trust a Weasley product, Mr Potter,” she reprimands. “And you should never let him, Mr Malfoy.” Draco feels his ears go pink and his stomach drop. He’s never been looked at with such disappointment by the headmistress before during his time as a professor. 

Her gaze softens as she sees them cower in shame. Merlin, Draco needs to toughen up a bit. “I understand this was a mistake,” she says, “but we really need to get it under control.”

Draco instantly agrees, nodding his head. This job means so much to him, he can’t allow this tiny error to botch the rest of his life. When he turns to look at Harry, he finds his eyes already turned to him. He looks into emerald eyes, and they both nod sharply to each other. They will need to work together to get this sorted, as cliche as that sounds.

Screams rise through the castle, and Draco whips his head around. The other professors are trickling out of their rooms, and the water has flooded all the way to the staircase. Draco watches with horror as it falls down the stairs, invading the rest of the castle. Shouts echo up the floors, and he cringes with the damage he and Harry have caused. Students yell to each other below, and McGonagall rushes down the corridor and disappears down the stairs. Her voice bounces back to them, and Draco listens as she evacuates the students into the Great Hall.

“We’ve royally fucked up,” Harry says from next to him. Draco jumps at how close he is. 

“It would appear so,” Draco agrees. 

A flash of blue light catches his attention, and he finds himself staring at the wooden box that started all of this in the first place. It’s glowing again, new symbols etched onto the sides. From this distance he can’t make them out, but he can guess. The ceiling becomes hidden from view, heavy clouds blocking out the stone. The temperature plummets, making it cold even for November. He looks up at the clouds and freezes to the spot. 

Water drips slowly onto the floor, falling out of the ceiling. But it doesn’t stop there. It picks up quickly, and soon it’s pouring in the hallway. Draco feels all his hope drain away. He couldn’t deal with the swamp water, let alone a raining ceiling. His mouth opens and closes, shock rendering him useless. He’s hit with something solid and cold, and he’s startled out of his daze. Hail. Actual hail is joining the rain, and now it’s storming within Hogwarts. Draco swallows hard and looks across at Harry. 

Harry is running a hand through his sodden hair, trying to squeeze the water out of it. It’s fruitless, and Draco watches as it begins snowing over the DADA Professor. Little snowflakes, as delicate as sugar, float down onto black hair, and all Draco wants to do is run his hands through it… He shakes himself. Where did  _ that _ thought come from? 

“Malfoy,” Harry says in a daze. “Is it just me, or is it snowing now too?”

“Definitely not just you,” Draco replies. He swallows and then grabs at Harry’s arm. His hand finds Harry’s and Draco tugs the other man along with him as he runs towards the stairs. 

“Where are we going?” Harry shouts as they run.

“To help the students!” Draco calls back. It’s impossible to hear over the deafening combination of snow, hail, and rain. “None of them will know what to do!”

“ _ We  _ don’t know what to do!” Harry says, eyes wide when Draco looks over at him.

“We’ll figure something out,” he murmurs. He can only hope they will. 

The students are running everywhere, wands out and half-dressed. They were pulled from bed early, in the bitter November morning, to find their school flooded with swamp water, and apparently experiencing a blizzard. Draco swallows around his dry throat and tears his hand from Harry’s. He races towards the first student he can—a girl in Sixth Year—and asks what’s happening. 

“No one knows!” The girl shouts. “We all woke up when the water started coming under the doors, and then it started hailing on us! The Headmistress wants us all in the Great Hall.” 

Draco nods. None of them know he or Harry had anything to do with this. He intends to keep it that way. “Okay,” he tells her. “Thank you.” Then he’s turning around and running back to Harry. 

Harry is busy putting up shield charms around the students, helping them run down the corridor towards the Great Hall. Draco nearly slams into him as Harry takes a sharp step back. 

“Woah, you all right?” Harry asks, pulling Draco up so he’s standing properly. 

“Fine,” Draco manages. He shakes himself off and pulls out of Harry’s warm hold. “None of your charms are sticking,” he says. 

“Fuck,” Harry curses and whirls around. The students are being hammered with the weather, soaked to the bone and shivering. Some of the older years have tried their own shield charms, but they're having even less success than Harry did. Harry’s expression blanks, dread crossing over his terracotta face. 

Draco’s seen this look before, not only on Harry but also reflected back to him in the mirror. Flashbacks. 

“Harry,” Draco murmurs. He steps back into Harry’s space, closing the distance and wrapping his arms over Harry’s shoulders and back. He squeezes tight, moving his face next to Harry’s. “Harry, we aren’t in the war. He’s dead, never coming back, and you’re alive. Harry, it’s 2015, we survived.”

Draco watches as Harry slowly comes back, panic replacing the dread. That won’t do either. 

“We will find a way to fix this, Harry,” Draco reassures him. “This isn’t permanent, and we have amazing Healers to help any students if they get injured. We’re wizards, Harry. This will end, and we will fix it without any casualties.”

Harry’s breathing slows, and he squeezes Draco back. His face fills with colour again, blood returning and his eyes opening properly. 

“See, you’re here,” Draco breathes. 

“Thank you, Draco.” 

They never mention it, but they always use first names for this. It’s too personal, pulling someone out of flashbacks and memories of trauma, to use surnames. It’s the only time they ever use them, but they always have for this. 

A boy runs into them, sprinting as he is for the Great Hall. He whips his head around and shouts an apology, and Draco just waves it away. It’s a stressful time, he can’t blame a 14 year old for not watching where he’s running properly. 

“Everyone, inside as fast as you can!” McGonagall’s voice booms once again, amplified with a strong  _ Sonorous  _ charm. 

People start running even faster, slipping in the muddy water and falling into it. Harry pulls himself away from Draco and hurries to pick people up off their hands and knees. Draco watches, rooted to one spot, before jumping into action. They manage to get everyone out of the corridor and into the Great Hall, and the doors slam shut with a heavy rumble. 

“Everyone is to take a seat at their correct table, and prepare for a head count,” McGonagall announces from the platform at the front of the hall. The next few seconds are filled with frantic scrabbling as everyone follows her instructions. Professors leap to gather parchment and quills, and the students hurriedly arrange themselves into alphabetical order. An eerie silence falls over them, only broken by the fall of rain and hail. Somehow, the clouds haven’t formed in the Hall, and the swamp water hasn’t flooded in yet. The charms over it must be insanely strong to withstand against this magical storm.

Draco follows the others and starts calling out the names of people at the Slytherin table. He only gets through a couple when he’s tapped on the shoulder. 

“Mr Malfoy, I need to speak to you and Mr Potter immediately.” McGonagall’s voice is clear and firm, no room for arguing. 

Draco nods and places the parchment on the table. Professor Abbott—the new Transfiguration teacher now that McGonagall is Headmistress—quickly takes over for him. “I’ll go get him,” he complies. There’s no sense in arguing with her, and he knows where this is going already. 

Draco scans his eyes over the mass of people, seeking out a mop of black hair and a beard that’s mainly stubble. He finds Harry standing with some of the younger students, consoling them about what’s happening. Draco makes his way over, shoving himself past people that don’t even seem to realise he’s there.

“Potter, McGonagall wants to see us.”

“Malfoy,” Harry nods back to him. “Excuse me, I’ll be back as soon as I’m able to.” Harry stands up from where he's talking to a group of Second Years and approaches Draco. “What’s up?”

“I just said,” Draco can’t help sneering. “Come on.” He doesn’t think as he grabs at Harry’s hand and pulls him towards the Headmistress. 

“Since you two are responsible for this mess,” she says the second they get to her, “you two will solve it. Do I make myself clear?” 

Draco nods emphatically and, without giving time for Harry to respond, tugs the other man over into a corner. 

“Wh-what’re you doing Malfoy?” Harry sputters as he’s shoved against the wall. 

“You are going to stay right here,” Draco commands, “and not move while I try to fix this bloody box.”

Draco watches as Harry swallows, and hums to himself as he  _ Accio _ ’s the wooden box. It flies right into his hand, swooping over the students and landing with a smack against his skin.

He watches in abject horror as it begins to glow blue again immediately, and his mouth drops open as yet another new symbol etches itself in. A group of swirls form around the sides, joining the waves, raindrops, squares, and snowflakes. Wind. Draco snaps his mouth shut with a clack of teeth, and covers himself and Harry with a shield charm. Just as he does so, wind starts whistling around the Great Hall. A gust picks up, blowing things around and sending objects flying. 

“We are so doomed,” he breathes.

^~^~^

**8:43am**

“Okay, calm down Malfoy, everything will be fine.” Harry knows it probably won’t, but he’s not going to tell Draco that when he’s about to spiral. 

Draco merely scoffs in response. 

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Harry says. “We will figure it out, you’re words exactly.”

Shaking his head, Draco turns away. He walks across the Great Hall and plops down on one of the seats, appearing to help the older students with something.

Harry sighs. Draco is never going to forgive him if he doesn’t fix this mess they’ve brought in. He is going to need to have a word with Fred and George, figure out how this went wrong. They’ve never sent him something so unstable before.

Harry scrubs a hand down his face, wiping off some of the water. The truth is, Harry has it kind of bad for Draco. He has for ages, and it took many years for him to even admit it to himself. His friends think they know, but Harry hasn’t actually said anything about it to them. There’s no way Draco could like him back—especially not now he’s flooded Hogwarts with a swamp—so there’s never been any point talking about it. Harry’s figured out that it’s better for him not to act on it, he doesn’t want to risk their easy friendship. That alone took years to build, years to get over the history behind them. Even so, Harry needs to fix this. If he can’t have Draco in the way he wants, that’s fine, but he needs to make sure they remain friends; that won’t happen if he doesn’t solve this. 

His mind kicks into action, working at full speed. If Hermione could see how fast he was thinking, she would curse him to the moon and back for not thinking when he was younger. Harry chuckles to himself and runs through every single spell he knows. He mentally sorts them into ones he thinks might have some affect, and ones he isn’t so sure about. As the Defense professor, he knows hundreds. The only problem is that he’s never had to cast any of them on an unstable, badly-charmed box. He heaves a sigh. Whatever he does probably won’t go well, so he might as well start and get the inevitable over with. 

“ _ Reducto _ !”

The spell arcs over to the wooden box, a bright red line streaking through the air. It hits hard, and Harry braces himself for the explosion. Nothing. The spell rebounds off the box and flies towards him. Harry drops to the ground, heart racing and hands scraping against the stone floor. The ball of red energy slams into the wall behind his head and fizzes out. The box is intact, but the wall is not. 

With a flick of his wand Harry repairs the stone, hoping McGonagall missed the explosion. He looks out around the room and finds her occupied with a Fifth Year boy with a nasty gash across his head. Harry feels awful that something he did has resulted in that, but there’s no time to worry. He needs to get this done. 

“ _ Alarte Ascendare _ !”

The charm cuts through the air, gold sparks following as it collides with the box. Harry watches as it is thrown up into the air, his heart in his mouth, before gold sparks run through the wood; and then it’s falling back to the ground. Instead of dropping like stone though, it glides down unnaturally slowly and hits the ground with a soft thud. Harry drops to his knees next to it and inspects it for any damage. The stones cut into his knees through the jeans, but the box is in perfect condition. Harry grinds his teeth in frustration. This bloody box must be so secure it isn’t funny. Which bodes the question: what the fuck went wrong?!

Harry cycles through a dozen more spells, none having any more success than the previous. It drives him insane, and by the end of it he’s sweating despite the freezing temperatures. Nothing has so much as dented the damn thing, and Harry’s patience is rapidly running out. Draco hasn’t come back yet, and Harry wonders what he’s doing. Hopefully when he arrives he’ll have some better ideas than Harry. With that thought, he flops to the stone ground and catches his breath. The rough edges dig into his hands, and he wonders once again how strong the charms on the box must be. 

Harry sighs from his spot on the floor, allowing the ground to cool his heated skin. His thoughts turn to the repercussions he’ll no doubt receive for setting a magic storm loose in the castle, and his sigh turns into a groan. There’s no time for breaks. The longer he sits down, the more damage will be done. Harry jumps to his feet and wipes his forehead roughly with his sleeve. He silently thanks Draco for making him change clothes; this would have been ridiculously embarrassing to do in his pyjamas. 

“ _ Alohomora _ !” 

Harry doesn’t think it will work—hell, he’s sure it won’t—but none of the other, more violent, spells have done anything. The purple light carves through the air, cutting through it in the blink of an eye. It hits the wooden box with a soft thud, and Harry waits for the telltale sign of clicking locks. Nothing happens. Which is a given, really, since the box isn’t technically locked. He chews the inside of his mouth. Nothing appears to make any difference. None of his charms are working, but maybe that’s because he’s the Defense Professor, not the Charms one. Maybe, maybe he just needs to find Draco. 

Harry sweeps his gaze over the hall, searching for platinum hair. He finds Draco in the same seat as before, still helping the same students. Harry recognises some of them from his classes, but most don’t look like the average Defense elective. Shaking his head and carding his hand through his hair, Harry tries more spells. 

Flashing lights arc through the air, and the box is slammed down a couple more times. He runs through the other spells that probably won’t work, and finds his suspicions correct. This box is so secure, that he won’t ever be able to break through it on his own. Harry himself is thrown to the ground multiple times, and the jeans Draco forced him into rip across his knees. The skin he has left exposed is grazed and bloodied, but he doesn’t have time to go to Pomfrey. 

“Hey stranger.”

Harry jumps out of his skin, heart racing. Then he realises he knows the voice, and instantly feels like an idiot. “Hey Malfoy.”

He spins to face Draco, who’s looking at him like he’s sprouted a second head. 

“What have you been  _ doing _ ? You’re a mess Potter.” Draco crouches down next to him and runs his eyes over Harry’s many cuts and bruises. 

“Trying to disarm or damage this stupid fucking box,” Harry snarls. “The damn thing won’t budge, or even dent!” 

Draco tilts his head and peers at Harry. Seeming to find whatever he was looking for, he pulls his wand out of his sleeve. He turns it on its side so it’s long-ways against Harry’s face. He then murmurs a spell under his breath and moves the wand over Harry’s skin. Harry feels as his wounds close over and his bruising lifts, his clothes knitting back together.

“There, now you don’t look like you’ve been beaten up.” Draco smiles smugly as he pushes his wand back up his tight sleeve. 

“Why? Don’t like the look of anyone else beating me up?” Harry chides.

Draco flushes, his cheeks turning pink. He shakes his head and stands up; holds out a hand. “Come on, budge over and let me have a go.”

Harry gladly accepts the hand and is pulled up from the stone floor. 

Draco furrows his brow and looks at the box. “What did you say you tried?”

Harry sighs. “So many things I don’t honestly remember. None of them worked.”

“I can see that,” Draco mutters to himself. Harry hears and grinds his teeth, but doesn’t say anything. If he wants Draco’s help, and he does, he can’t interrupt the man. 

Draco looks thoughtful for a second, murmurs something under his breath, and then fires a spell at the box. Harry feels his eyes widen and eyebrows rise as the spell hits hard, and the box pops open again. Draco Malfoy. Just performed. Wandless magic. Not only that, but he also managed to do  _ something _ to the box! Harry forces his mouth shut. 

“Guess you didn’t try that one,” Draco says. Harry wants to punch that smug look off his face. Or kiss it. Definitely one of the two. 

Instead, he narrows his eyes. “I didn’t know you could do that,” he says.

Draco's head tips to the side. “Do what?”

“Oh I don’t know. Maybe wandless magic!” Harry feels himself blushing, heat racing through his body.

Draco only grows more confused. “I’m the Charms professor.” A pause, then, “ _ You _ can perform wandless magic!” 

Harry merely sighs and tries to control his body. “Whatever, let's take a look.”

He makes his way over to where the box skidded and kneels down next to it. He feels Draco move towards him, and shuffles over so they can both sit. Harry holds his breath as he reaches out for the box, which is still pumping water out. His hand gets covered in slimy mud as he pulls the lid further off and tries to look inside.

“All I can see is fucking swamp water,” he declares. 

Draco rolls his eyes, just in Harry’s peripheral vision. “I’m not surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Harry instantly takes offence. 

“Nothing!” Draco rushes to say. “Just that it’s a portable swamp, so I don’t know what else you expected.”

Harry pulls his lip into his mouth and chews it slightly. “I read somewhere, once, that magic storms usually have a centre, like an eye of a normal storm. I figured this probably would too, and that it would be in the box.”

Draco looks straight at Harry, and he can feel his eyes boring into him. “That makes sense.”

“Except clearly I was wrong, because there isn’t one here.”

Harry stands and tries to brush the water off of his body and clothes. It doesn’t work, and as Draco struggles to close the lid again, Harry tries to Vanish the water. That works. His face lights up at the realisation, but before he can do anything about it he helps Draco slam the lid down. The lip gets caught on his finger and he curses loudly as his finger gets jammed. He pulls himself free, clutching at his throbbing, red finger. He feels Draco next to him laughing silently. 

“Did you see what I did?” He asks.

“What? Jam your finger?” Draco chuckles to himself.

Harry glares. “Not that.”

Draco pauses. Shakes his head. 

Harry sighs. Trust Draco to get caught up on him being clumsy and not on him being a genius. “I Vanished the water off of me.”

Harry watches as Draco’s eyebrows furrow. Then it clicks. “We can Vanish the rest of it then too! We can start drying out the castle!”

“Hopefully, yes.” 

Draco jumps up and down for a second, then gets control over his body and face, both going carefully blank. “I’ll go talk to McGonagall, you stay here and keep thinking.”

Nodding, Harry sits down next to the wooden box. He begins experimenting with the water, Vanishing it and then watching as it replaces itself. He does it over and over, changing things ever so slightly each time. The water always bubbles for a second before disappearing into the void, and it takes another second for the box to release more water. Once the levels are back to where they were, the box slows down and releases less. The amount still increases, just not as quickly. A thought strikes Harry. If he were to isolate the box, would the water in the rest of the castle rise slower? It’s possible.

Jumping to his feet, Harry practically runs over to where Draco is talking animatedly to the Headmistress. They both turn to him at the same time, mirrored images of annoyance on their faces.

“So sorry to interrupt, but I’ve had an idea.”

Two eyebrows rise, Draco’s even higher than McGonagall’s. 

“Do explain,” she says. 

Harry heaves a breath. When did he get so unfit? “If we isolate the box, it might make the waters and storms weaker.”

McGonagall doesn’t look convinced. “And do you have any evidence on which to base your theory?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry nods enthusiastically. He needs to get her to understand, to listen. To trust him. 

“Go ahead then,” she agrees. Harry’s about to try to convince her further when he hears what she’s said. “Take it down to the dungeons—there are multiple abandoned classrooms that should do it—and don’t come back until the box isn’t a threat anymore.”

Harry nods wordlessly, still trying to process how quickly she’d agreed. 

Draco doesn’t say anything as he grabs Harry’s wrist and walks swiftly past, tugging Harry along with him. Draco’s hand around Harry’s skin is warm in the cold, and Harry finds himself shuddering at the contact. He pulls his hand away, not letting himself indulge in something that can never be. Draco leads Harry back to where the box is, still lying on the floor in the corner, and charms it to float behind them. He doesn’t wait for Harry to gawk at the wandless magic again, and grabs for his wrist once more. He then tugs Harry towards him, and pulls him to the door. Harry’s mind snaps back to attention as they walk through the corridors. 

“Where are we going?” He asks, suddenly unsure. 

“You heard the Headmistress,” Draco says. “An abandoned classroom in the dungeons.”

Harry pauses. “But what about the Slytherin common room?”

“Please,” Draco scoffs. “No one will be in their common rooms for a while, they’ll stay in the Hall until it’s totally safe.” 

Nodding, Harry allows them to lapse into silence. It’s comfortable, a type of quiet that can only be achieved after years of friendship; or hard work. He allows his thoughts to wander again, and he loses himself in his mind. He’s always been somewhat of a dreamer, often his only way to escape as a child and teenager. Now, it’s a habit he can’t shake, but it’s better than walking silently with Draco and having nothing to do. 

They come to a sudden stop a few minutes later. Harry jolts back to the present and reality, and takes in their surroundings. They’re standing in a stone corridor—unsurprising for the dungeons—with a very old door before them. 

“Is it a classroom?” Harry asks, sceptic. 

Draco chuckles. “Of course it is,” he says. “It’s one of the old Potions rooms.”

That explains why the door is stained with various colours. Harry tries the handle. It’s stuck. He pulls his wand out of his sleeve and casts an Unlocking Charm at it. The lock clicks and the door swings inwards. Draco practically pushes Harry in before him, and then follows. The door slams shut behind them the second they, and the dripping box, are inside. 

Draco huffs. “That was rude.”

“Are you seriously talking to a door?” 

“...Shut up.”

Harry chuckles at Draco and casts a  _ Lumos _ , watching as blue light floods the room. Without saying a word, Draco Transfigures a stone into a desk and unceremoniously drops the box onto it. He Vanishes the leaking swamp water over and over, trying unsuccessfully to get it out of his jeans. Harry sits on the edge of the desk, legs hanging underneath him. He swings them back and forth as he watches Draco aim spell after spell at the bloody thing.

++

**1:58pm**

Hours pass, and they still haven’t made any progress. Harry’s tried every single spell he knows, and Draco has taken his analysis of all of them probably too far. Draco’s nearly fallen asleep where he stands multiple times, and each time it happens Harry delights in shooting water at his face. 

“I’m going to bed,” Harry announces a while later. He’s tired, and he doesn’t care anymore. 

‘It’s barely afternoon,” Draco says, a yawn betraying his protests. 

Harry laughs. “Seems like you should too.”

Draco hesitates for only a moment before sliding off the desk and landing on his feet. Harry doesn’t understand how Draco can move so gracefully even as he looks like he’s going to fall on his face with exhaustion. Draco raises his wand and aims it at a wooden chair. It immediately Transfigures itself into a bed, and Harry has to hide how impressed he is. 

Draco moves over to the new bed and falls onto it, sighing as he shuffles around. Harry watches as he gets comfortable, a heavy pain in his chest. The blond punches the pillow and peels back the covers, slipping beneath them. Harry’s fists clench, looking at the man going to sleep in a bed. He looks around, searching for something he can sleep on. Nothing jumps out at him, and he settles for crashing on the hard ground. There’s no point even trying to Transfigure something into a second bed; Harry would probably blow them all up. He can always take pain potions in the morning. As much as he may want to join Draco in the bed, he knows he’d be immediately pushed out. He doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with that rejection. Of course, there is a way around that. An idea forms in his head, one that he can’t shake. 

“Good night, Potter,” Draco says from where his head is buried under the duvet. 

“Night Malfoy,” Harry returns. Draco sounds half asleep already, there’s no way he will be awake in a couple of minutes. 

Harry listens to the soft sound of breaths, the drip of water leaking from the box. A few hours ago, Draco had made the box float at chest height, and then did something really complicated that Harry doesn’t understand. Basically, there’s a square beneath the box, so whenever water drips out it falls into the square. Then, it automatically Vanishes it. Harry was really impressed when Draco had first done it, but now he wishes the dripping wasn’t as loud. Those charms must have been some serious spell work, explaining why Draco is so tired now when it’s only the afternoon. 

Harry focuses back in to Draco, and listens as he breathes. The puffs of breath are deep and long, and Harry knows he’s fallen asleep. Harry pushes himself up off the floor and tiptoes over to the bed. He looks down at Draco, his face relaxed with sleep. They must both be mad, Harry thinks now; they’re both sleeping in jeans. He shakes his head and pushes his hair off his face. He lifts the corner of the duvet and sheet, moving slowly so he doesn’t wake the other man up. Harry, eyes fixed on Draco for any sign of motion, gently lowers himself to the bed. He sits down and waits, allowing the mattress to creak slightly and for Draco to get used to the extra weight. 

Once Harry is certain his presence has gone unnoticed, he moves again. This time, he swings his legs up onto the bed. They land with a soft thud on top of the covers, the fabric stifling any other sound. He freezes as Draco shifts in his sleep, but he doesn’t seem to have awoken. Harry releases a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and tucks his legs under the covers. From here, it should be easy. All he has to do is slide his shoulders down so he’s under the blankets, and then go to sleep. And it is that easy. His whole body is enveloped in the warm blanket, but his foot is touching Draco’s shin, and he’s suddenly aware of how close together they are. 

Harry swallows hard. He knows what he is doing is wrong to a certain extent, but he doesn’t want to analyse it. All he wants is to sleep in a bed. He isn’t going to do anything other than sleep. Yawning, he shuffles under the covers and pulls his foot away. He settles on the pillow and allows sleep to take him, even as he’s thinking about how warm the body next to him is. 

^~^~^

**4:02pm**

The first thing Draco notices when he wakes up is that he isn’t in his bedroom. His bedroom—designed to look like a dark forest—doesn’t have a stone ceiling. Or stone walls, or a bed randomly placed in the middle of the room. The second thing he notices, is that someone else is in the bed with him. More to the point, someone is pressed against his back with their face in his shoulder. Draco moves, very slowly and cautiously, and turns his head to see who it is. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees that it's Harry Potter who’s sleeping against him. 

Draco stops thinking, relying on his body’s instincts. He leaps out of the bed, adrenaline coursing through his veins. What the actual fuck is Harry doing in his bed? Is it his bed though? The rest of the day rushes into his mind, memories of flooding and a stupid box at the heart of it all. Memories of isolating said box in the dungeons, and Transfiguring a bed to sleep in. Harry must not have done the same, choosing instead to join Draco. That explains why he is there, face pressed into the pillow Draco had just been sleeping on. That doesn’t explain why he was pressed up against him though. Draco finds himself shivering, and tells himself it’s from the cold and not anything else; especially not anything else in the form of black hair and green eyes. 

He looks back to the bed, his heart thudding in his chest still. Harry hasn’t stirred, asleep under the covers Draco had brought into existence. His heart clenches looking at him, and he’s made up his mind in a second and already moving.  _ Harry _ was the one to sneak into  _ his _ bed, not the other way around. With his mind made, Draco paces back to the bed and slips back under the covers. If Harry wakes before Draco’s moved again, Harry will have no way of knowing that Draco is aware of his presence. 

The duvet is so warm in the cold November day—made only worse in a stone room underground—so if he curls himself back into position with Harry’s back behind him, who can blame him? His heart clenches again as he thinks about the fact that this will never be real. Draco can’t afford to imagine things like Harry returning Draco’s… affections; Draco’s very  _ reluctant _ affections. He’s tried everything in his power to halt his emotions, to grind them to a stop like one would the gears of a broken clock, but it hasn’t worked. He’s basically in love with the bloody Saviour, and nothing is helping. Getting into bed with him won’t help either, even if they’re only sleeping and not doing… other things. 

Draco allows sleep to wash over him, and tries not to think of Harry pressed against him as he drifts off. The last thing he needs is for his dreams to taunt him with a reality he can’t allow to happen. He can’t let himself fall for the man, because the sentiment will never be returned. 

++

**5:07pm**

There is a strange, tinkling sound. Like a muggle phone when it goes off randomly. Draco distantly thinks Harry called it a ‘ringtone’ but how would Draco know? He shakes the thought away. The bed is warm and soft, and he wants to snuggle back under the blankets again. He feels the mattress dip next to him and hears the rustle of fabric. When he turns his head, he finds a sheepish Harry looking at him, his ears flushed just slightly against his terracotta skin. Draco feels a heavy weight press down his heart and stomach, but he knows that he can’t allow them to stay like this; not when Harry knows Draco is aware of it now.

Draco sharpens his eyes as much as he can after just waking up, turning his gaze into a glare. Harry quickly morphs his own expression to match, and Draco huffs a breath. It pains him to do this, all he wants is to throw Harry’s arm around his waist and go back to sleep. But he can’t. He can’t, and he needs to be firm with himself. Taking a deep breath, Draco extends his leg and kicks Harry’s shin. It’s not a painful kick, more of a strong shove.

Harry grunts at the contact but gets the message. He makes a show of falling out of the bed, and Draco’s heart aches. He’s done the right thing; he knows he has. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt though. 

“Good morning to you too,” Harry grumbles from the stone floor.

Draco coughs awkwardly, trying to clear his throat. “Good morning,” he says. “Let’s not talk about… that.”

“Absolutely.”

Draco feels like hitting his head against the wall with how stupid he is. Maybe if they just talked about things instead of ignoring them, something might come of this. He sighs. It’s stupid to think about. 

“Let’s try to shut off that horrible sound,” Harry says as he stands. Draco’s eyes run over him, lingering on the rumpled shirt and cuts and bruises from earlier. 

“What’s the time?” Draco mumbles as he pulls himself out of bed. Harry doesn’t reply, so Draco picks his wand up from the ground—how did it get there?—and casts a  _ Tempus.  _ He’s not impressed when he sees that it’s just past five o’clock. 

“How do you think we can shut it off?” He asks Harry. 

“Why do you think I know?” Harry accuses. A pause. “Sorry, that was harsh.”

Draco hums, the only sign he heard. “ _ Silencio _ ,” he tries. The charm is aimed straight at the box, and given Draco’s experience and skill in the subject, should immediately stop the noise. It doesn’t. The spell hits the box but nothing changes. 

Draco turns to look at Harry and see what he thinks, only to find Harry already staring at him. He watches as the man shakes himself out of a daze and returns to the present. Draco’s stomach twists. 

Harry chews the side of his mouth before he points his wand at the wooden cube. “ _ Muffliato _ .”

Before the spell even leaves Harry’s wand, Draco has stopped it in its tracks. Harry whirls to him, a weird expression on his face. Like a mix between anger and awe. 

“Potter, you really are an idiot aren’t you?” Draco accuses.

Harry snarls and opens his mouth to protest. 

Draco cuts him off. “The Muffliato Charm can’t be used in this situation because it creates a buzzing in other people’s ears. It’s designed so people can talk without being overheard. All that spell would achieve is us not being able to hear each other, and it would do absolutely nothing to solve the problem.”

Harry’s face visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping from their defensive state. “Okay, what do you suggest then?”

Draco has to think, tipping his head to the side. Nothing comes to mind though, and he frowns. When he turns to Harry he shakes his head. 

Harry seems to understand and collapses to the floor. He groans in what Draco takes as annoyance, picks himself up, and then flops back onto the bed. Draco watches as he buries his face into the pillows, a smile tugging at his lips. Then it hits him. 

“ _ Silentium _ !” He casts, yellow light spilling from his wand and rocketing at the box. It hits the wood with a sound like thunder, and the chiming stops. 

Harry lifts his head from the pillow. “What the fuck kind of spell was that?” 

Draco snorts at the eloquence of Harry’s words. “One I invented,” he says. “Kind of…”

“What do you mean ‘kind of’? How can you kind of invent a spell?” Harry rolls onto his back and sits up against the pillows. 

Draco sighs. “It’s just the Latin word for ‘silence’. I was fiddling around with word origins one day, and discovered that ‘silencio’ is actually Spanish.” He holds a hand up at Harry’s gaping mouth. “I know, strange right? So I tried casting with a Latin word instead and while it works sometimes, other times it’s not successful and can actually be rather sporadic.” 

Harry basically jumps off the bed and runs to hug Draco, who’s knocked back with such force his arms automatically rise to Harry’s head to stabilise himself. The arms around Draco’s waist tighten, the head in his shoulder shuffling deeper into his neck. Draco stands there, unsure of what’s happening and how to react. It’s not like they haven’t hugged before, but they’ve never embraced like this; it’s almost, intimate? But no, Draco must be projecting. He pulls himself away after another second of indulgence. 

“You understand what this means, right?” Harry excitedly asks. He lets go of Draco and steps back a little, eyes shining. “This is the only spell to have done anything to the box to actually change it. All you have to do now is reshape the spell into one that can reverse the storms!” 

Draco feels his eyes widen. “Merlin! You’re right!” He rushes over to where the box is still floating in the air and dismantles some of his charms. He needs to lower the box so he can work on it, but also keep the Vanishing square beneath it. It’s tricky, and his forehead creases as he starts to concentrate. 

Harry comes up behind him and awkwardly taps him on the shoulder. Draco feels it but doesn’t register it, pushing the hand away. He hears Harry sigh and only then realises. He turns to Harry and smiles sheepishly at him. 

“I’m gonna go see what’s happening outside, give you some space to work,” Harry says. Draco just nods and waves him away. Harry is right; this could be the break they need to solve this.

^~^~^

**5:29pm**

Harry runs up the stairs, footsteps echoing off stone walls. There’s no swamp water flooding through the dungeons, but he honestly doesn’t remember if there was to start with. He’s spent so long working—and sleeping… and thinking about Draco—that he’s forgotten some of the most important details. He wants to scream at himself for not paying enough attention, but can’t find it in himself to care that much. McGonagall will probably be more than happy to do it for him.

He rounds the final corner after having climbed the many flights of stairs, and comes face to face with snow and hail. Harry instantly puts a really strong shield up, hoping that it will protect him this time. It’s successful, and he walks through the empty corridor to the Great Hall, where he struggles with opening the heavy doors. Once he gets one open, he slips inside and closes it with a slam that’s somehow lost in the noise within. Harry exhales in relief at being out of the storm and drops his shield, eyes searching for the Headmistress. He finds her standing with some of the other professors, each one with their wand drawn and mouth moving quickly. Harry watches as they all cast at the same time, and his mouth drops open as they Vanish the still rising swamp waters.

Harry makes his way through the students, apologising to those trying to ask him questions and rushing to get to the others. He reaches McGonagall with a flushed face and slightly breathless. He’s in terrible form considering he duels nearly every day for his classes. 

“Headmistress,” he gasps.

She turns and her eyebrows rise. “Catch your breath for a second, Mr Potter. You look like you’ve just run a marathon.”

Harry nods and wheezes silently for a while before straightening up and pretending it never happened. “We’ve made some progress and hope to sort it out soon. In the meantime, I was wondering how I could assist up here.”

McGonagall tuts. “You mean to say Mr Malfoy is doing all the work?”

“Well-” Harry tries to protest. “Kind of… but it’s Charms work and that’s never been my strong suit.”

“Says the man who received Exceeds Expectations in that very subject in his OWLs.” She peers at him over her glasses, and Harry has the terrible feeling that he's being assessed. 

He gives up trying to defend himself—there isn’t really anything else he can say, is there?—and instead asks again what he can do to help. 

“We’ve mostly got the swamp water under control right now, but you could help dry everything off.” McGonagall turns to a student who has just asked her about an essay due today that now can’t be handed in, and Harry takes that as his cue to leave. As exciting as drying off wet things sounds, Harry can’t think of anything worse. He sends a half-arsed drying spell at the closest object in the pile before walking back to the heavy doors. With one last glance behind him, Harry slips back outside into the corridor. 

He’s immediately met with a gale that nearly tears his glasses off his face, and rain so strong he can’t see through it. Cursing his glasses and the tendency they have to be destroyed in the rain, he casts a spell on them to make the lenses waterproof. His clothes soak through in the blink of an eye, and he shivers in his denim and cotton. At least he isn’t in his pyjamas, he thinks for the second time. Damn Draco for always being right in one way or another. 

Harry whips his wand out and casts the strongest shield charm known to man around himself. It blocks out the wind completely, but some of the rain seeps through anyway. Once there is a bubble around him, he begins setting up. First, the corridors need to have charm points; invisible structures that allow you to connect spells together. They’re usually used for wards, but there’s no reason they can’t work for shield charms. Excessive shield charms at that. Harry starts casting, sending little green specks of light all over the corridor and watching them fizzle out once being activated. 

This is going to be strenuous work to say the least, and while Harry is skilled at the charm, he can’t see how he’s going to be able to do this. It’s ridiculously ambitious, trying to set up a shield charm tunnel to every common room in the castle. Harry takes a breath and walks the first step away from the Hall, into the storm. His shield holds, but he doesn’t have the time to be grateful. He waves his wand in a straight line down, cutting through the air. It’s challenging, casting many spells and trying to weave them together, all while keeping track of his own shield. 

Once everything clicks into place for the first 10 metres away from the Great Hall, Harry drops his shield. He holds his breath, waiting to be hammered with rain and hail. When that doesn’t happen, he exhales harshly. It’s so draining, and he has hundreds of metres left. Quite possibly over a kilometre. He chews his lip but paces towards the end of his shields, watching as snow falls around them. At this rate he’ll be going all night. He wipes his forehead, flicking off sweat that’s somehow formed in the bitter cold, takes a breath, and starts the process again. 

++

**6:54pm**

Harry pushes through his sore muscles, completing yet another set of charms and moving forward 10 more metres. He’s found a rhythm by now; after spending an hour and a half casting the same thing over and over, he doesn’t think he’ll ever use the spell again. The only bonus is that he doesn’t need to think about it anymore. It’s the same thing each time: set up his own shield, walk out of the shields he’s just put up, prepare the charm points, cast the charms, repeat. So instead of thinking about how if he fails one cast he’ll cause a domino effect and have to restart everything, he thinks about something else. More aptly,  _ someone  _ else.

Draco Malfoy looked so good, sitting on the ground and bent over a box. He pulls off concentration unfairly well, and Harry has been able to think of little else for the past hour. With his black button down and tight blue jeans emphasising his arse and legs, Harry has been lost in his mind. It’s so painful to know that no matter how much he wants the man, Draco will never like him back. Hell, he’d kicked Harry out of the bed and glared at him the second he realised! Harry huffs to himself and takes another step forward. 

He forces his thoughts away from Draco and to what will happen when he’s completed this. Hopefully, McGonagall will get all the students back to their dormitories where they will be able to sleep tonight. The only problem with that plan is that the box is still down in the dungeons, so the Slytherin’s won’t have access to their common room. Harry realises now that there is a set of rooms that have been all but abandoned for 16 years, sitting in one of the towers. He shakes his head. No, surely they wouldn’t reopen those rooms. But what other choice is there? His stomach twists at the thought of another group of students using the rooms his own year group had been forced to occupy.

The Eighth Year common room and dormitories were only used in 1998 and 1999, and were never supposed to be occupied again once the grade had graduated. Harry hates the thought that some other people will sleep there, in the very rooms where his year group overcame their animosity. Where everyone became friends—or, friend-ish at least—and dealt with their trauma. Where so many people broke down and were built back up again. Where everyone came together after being enemies on an awful battlefield. It had taken months, but they’d gotten there. 

One of the most surprising things to come out of his Eighth Year was Draco and him putting their past behind them. Becoming friends with his supposed enemy of seven years was shocking to say the least, but Harry had made it work. Draco was no longer the terrified boy trying to survive, he was an adult who had lived through the wrong side of the war and was now trying to make amends. He was the man who no longer laughed at Harry, but instead laughed at his jokes. Harry yearns for the only quiet year he ever experienced as a student; the only year he wasn’t running from a psychotic murderer.

It was the year Harry had had time to think about himself and what he wanted. The first realisation was that he didn’t want to be an Auror. After going through a war where he literally died to save everyone, he hadn’t wanted to do the same every day for the rest of his life as a career. He wanted a break from saving the world, and when he’d sat down to think about what else he could do, he remembered leading Dumbledore’s Army. He remembered coaching other people, helping them succeed and thrive. That was when he knew he wanted to be a teacher, and Defence Against the Dark Arts was the clear choice as his best subject—it also helped that he was still assisting others, without his life actually being on the line.

He’d immediately told Draco, worried that Hermione and Ron might not be happy with his decision. Draco—who was still Malfoy at that point—had been very supportive. He’d then told Harry that he was thinking about being a Potions master, and maybe even working at Hogwarts. They had then gone down a spiral of what them teaching together would be like. Of course, Draco’s dream hadn’t happened. He’d been rejected in favour of a woman who had already been teaching for a while, but had been offered a position as a Charms professor as consolation. Draco had been ecstatic to even be considered for something else despite being rejected, and had instantly accepted. Now, Draco couldn’t see himself anywhere else. 

Eighth Year was also the year Ginny had broken up with him. Everyone had been so shocked by the break up, but Harry wasn’t. Ginny hadn’t felt right, not in the way Ron and Hermione always looked. He also wasn’t surprised when she started dating Luna Lovegood. It turns out that Ginny was bisexual, and had realised it during the war while Harry was away. She’d fallen for her friend who understood perfectly, but she’d promised herself not to act on anything until breaking it off with Harry. Luna was more than happy to wait, the most patient person in the whole of Hogwarts. 

Harry wasn’t the only one with relationship difficulty though. Draco had come out as gay to Harry a few months into their friendship, tired of having to watch every word he said. He told Harry about his arranged marriage to Astoria, and how much he dreaded having to wed her. He’d said that he was terrified to come out to his parents, and couldn’t see any possibility of anything changing. Harry had snuck around for a while after that, watching Astoria Greengrass go about her classes. He’d eventually approached her and asked how she felt about the whole thing. She’d been very quick to say that it was awful, and the last thing she wanted. It hadn’t taken much convincing after that to get her to write to her parents and ask them to call it off. 

Harry had been absolutely fine with Draco’s preference for men, questioning his own sexuality as well. He hadn’t said anything about it at the time, wanting to be positive before telling other people. He’d eventually told Draco in their 20s, who hadn’t been even slightly surprised by that point. They’d laughed about it and gone on with their normal lives. 

Eighth Year was also the first year everyone was legally allowed to drink. There had been many nights fueled by alcohol—the only means of escape from nightmares and trauma. Drinking games had been quick to be introduced, and everyone had found solidarity in the ridiculous things they said and did. Harry remembers with a fond smile as he drops his shield and walks forward again, that Draco had practically clung to him most nights he was drunk. He remembers hands clutching at him and slurred words, dark rooms and whispered confessions. Harry freezes. 

Nothing had ever been explicitly stated, but with the benefit of hindsight, it looks to Harry that Draco might have had a bit of a thing for him when they were 18. Draco had been rather… touchy-feely. Especially at the end, right before they graduated in June. Harry’s heart squeezes, his stomach fluttering. He stamps it down. That was nearly two decades ago, there’s no way anything remains from the crush Draco clearly had. It’s impossible for him to still feel that way, to feel the same way that Harry—albeit reluctantly—does. Maybe he wouldn’t be so reluctant to admit it if he knew Draco had liked him once upon a time. 

Harry turns his thoughts away from his Eighth Year, and back towards the new set of charm points he’s setting up. There's no point lingering on distant memories and current hopes. But as he puts up what must be his thousandth shield charm, he thinks about the present. About the competition they’ve struck between them, based solely off how successful their friends can become. Harry digs through his memory, trying to pinpoint the last time he had dated anyone; 3 years ago. It hadn’t even been particularly long, only a couple of months. Just like all his other relationships. Draco is even worse than Harry, not having had a long-term partner really at all. Harry knows that Draco frequents clubs, even to this day, but nothing has ever been longer than one night. He never lets anyone in close enough to hurt him.

Harry realises that instead of dating and looking to settle down, Draco and he have spent all their time together. They eat all their meals together—which doesn’t mean much during term since it’s required for professors to attend all meals, but they don’t ever stop during the holidays—they talk all the time, spend more time with each other than with their friends, and always celebrate each other’s success. The more Harry thinks about, the more they seem to already act like a couple. They’re rooms are even next to each other, and both can get in without passwords; unusual even amongst very close friends. 

He swallows hard and takes another few steps forward. He turns to face the portrait into the Hufflepuff common room—the last one left—and finishes up the spells. They glow green for a second, before blending into the surroundings with a quiet click. His wand drops from his hand. He’s actually done it. He’s constructed a system of tunnels all over Hogwarts, allowing the students to move to their common rooms and dormitories safely. Allowing himself to breathe and scream in excitement for a while, Harry drops his shield and picks up his wand. Without another thought, he runs back to the Great Hall, not taking anything in until he’s pushing the doors open. 

“Minerva!” He shouts into the Hall. He never uses her first name, and it feels weird on his tongue. There’s no time to think about that now though. 

“Mr Potter,” she says once he’s rushed through the Hall towards her. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I’ve constructed shield tunnels so the students can get to their dorms. The Slytherins are in the Eight Year rooms left over from my year, and I have something really important I have to go do.”

“ _ Slow down _ Mr Potter,” she chastises. “What do you mean you’ve constructed shield tunnels?”

Harry catches his breath, suddenly realising it’s the second time he’s run at her today. “I used charm points to weave them all together, and it’s possible to walk around without being hailed on.”

McGonagall is speechless, not saying anything for a long moment. Harry twitches in agitation. “That’s exceptional Charms work, Mr Potter,” she finally says. 

“Thank you,” Harry replies. He may be itching to get to the dungeons, but he can still be polite. 

“Congratulations on your spells, and thank you for being so thoughtful. Even if you didn’t do as I said and dried out the things that were wet.” Harry flushes at the accusation but doesn’t defend himself. She’s right. “Off you go then. Go do whatever it is you need to do.” She waves her hand at the direction of the doors. 

“Thank you!” He calls over his shoulder as he starts running out of the Hall and all the way down to the dungeons. To Draco. 

^~^~^

**7:35pm**

Draco’s back aches, his arms and hands are sore, and he’s sure his legs are frozen underneath him. It hadn’t taken long for him to conjure an actual chair, and he’d moved to it very quickly. The only problem is that it’s now been hours and he hasn’t moved at all. His head hurts with the effort of concentration, and Draco is positive that he’s never going to get the wrinkle off his forehead now. 

The spell is slowly but surely working, twisting and morphing into a totally different charm. Hopefully it will fit into the wooden box’s parameters for magic, but Draco knows that he can’t be too optimistic. If he gets his hopes up, there is every possibility everything will crumble down on him. 

Thankfully though, he has had some level of success. In the last fifteen minutes, Draco has managed to put the brakes on the gales and the snow. Now, people should be able to walk through Hogwarts without being whipped away in strong wind, or be buried under snow and freeze to death. There is still the chance of being hit in the head with hail, drowning in swamp water, and being chilled to the bone with the rain, but Draco thinks he should be able to get it eventually. Even if he can’t allow himself to hope just yet. 

The door to the abandoned classroom bangs open, and Draco feels the ground rushing to meet him. He hits the stone floor hard, groaning as his stiff limbs move for the first time in over two hours. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry Draco!” Harry apologises as he runs over to where Draco is lying on the ground. 

He picks himself up, rubbing his sore arms and ribs, and then freezes. Harry called him Draco. They don’t do that, never, not unless someone’s having a panic attack. And Draco was very much not having one, he’d just fallen off his chair! Why would Harry call him by his first name? “All good, probably the only way I would have moved anyway,” Draco says, not bringing up the name thing. 

“Still, I’m sorry.”

Draco watches as Harry awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and walks over to the Transfigured bed. He wants to interrupt Harry, but the other man waves him off. “Continue working, I can wait for a while.”

“You clearly have something to say, Potter,” Draco replies. “You wouldn’t have barged in here like you did otherwise.”

Harry holds his gaze. “I can wait. Fixing this mess is a lot more important right now.”

Draco nods. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Harry repeats even as Draco sits back down on his chair and turns to face the box.

Draco inhales slowly and then releases it, massages his arms and hands. He’ll probably be here for a while, and he won’t be able to work as well if he has to keep stopping because of pain and cramping hands. Especially not when the spell work he has to cast is ridiculously challenging. He had started by recasting his successful silencing charm and then stripping it back to its bones. He needed to rebuild the spell so it had a different effect, all while making sure it remained compatible with the box. Draco can picture the inside of the box in his head now, a maze of spells tangled together. It’s no wonder the charms broke the second it was opened; with this many spells in one place you would need to be a magical genius not to break everything. 

Draco is long past that stage though, and has already started rebuilding the spell. There are multiple stages of this new charm work. For a start, he needs to extend the spell so that its longer and more things can be built off it. It’s fragile work, and Draco’s hand shakes around his wand, his fingers going white as he prays that he doesn’t fuck it all up. He doesn’t actually need to say anything out loud, instead reshaping everything in his mind. That doesn’t stop him murmuring nonsensical things to himself to keep him sane. Now that Harry’s here though, he finds himself concentrating more on him than anything he might murmur under his breath. 

Harry’s leg is bouncing, foot tapping on the stone floor as he waits. Draco’s known him long enough to know that Harry is waiting, impatient. As much as he may have claimed that fixing everything is more important than whatever he has to say, Draco doesn’t think he quite believes it. Harry rarely shows how antsy he is, and even more rare is the fact that he isn’t doing anything about it. He’s just sitting there, dealing with his nervous energy and keeping to his word. He’s not distracting Draco, allowing him to work. At least, he isn’t  _ deliberately  _ distracting him. It’s not Harry’s fault that he can’t keep his mind on task. 

Draco narrows his thoughts back to the box, realising that the longer he takes to work the longer he’ll have to wait. His hand shakes, his mind growing tired and his back and neck stiffen again. He feels things click into place every so often, and each time he does he allows himself to breathe again. Nothing has happened for a while though, and he’s starting to wonder why he even bothered. He’s clearly not good enough, not strong enough to fix this. But then things start clicking again. It’s like a key that’s growing from within the lock, working its way out to eventually be turned and opened. More branches click within the box’s mess of charms, and Draco becomes more confident. 

The box shakes on the table, water starting to leak off the desk as it avoids the Vanishing square. Draco fires spells at it to stop its vibration, but nothing works. Either it means he’s close to finishing it, or he’s broken the bloody thing and it will be stuck like this forever. He hopes it's the former. His grip tightens impossibly more on his wand, and he worries for a second that he might snap it. He carefully pulls at his spell in his mind, lengthening it so it’s long enough to fit into the last section. It takes all of his concentration to pull it in another direction, to spike it to the side so it clicks into place. 

The box falls off the table entirely, clattering to the stone floor. The sound echoes off the walls and Draco freezes, preparing for the worst. But nothing happens. It sits there, and he only notices as he turns to look at Harry that it's not flooding water. It’s not even dripping water. His breath catches in his throat. There’s no way. 

“Did you just…?” Harry asks, the first time he’s spoken since barging in. 

“I- I don’t know,” Draco breathes. 

Wordlessly, Harry sits up from the bed and walks over to the door. Draco watches as he slowly wraps his hand around the handle and tugs it open. The wood scrapes against the stones. There’s silence. No sign of pounding rain. No distinct, sharp sound of hail bouncing off floors. There’s nothing. 

Harry turns to face Draco, eyes wide and smile pulling at his lips. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it, tugged in every which direction. Draco wants desperately to smooth it, to card his own hands through it. He can’t move though, frozen in place as realisation floods through him. He did it. Harry collides with him, pushing Draco back against the table he was working at. His arms wrap around him, and Draco falls into the embrace. Harry is so warm, so steady and firm. Draco sighs against him and clenches his hands in Harry’s soft shirt. The one Draco himself had forced Harry into barely twelve hours ago. Now he wants the shirt off, wants his lips on Harry’s. 

He fights the warmth spreading up his body, telling himself to calm down. This can never happen. Even so, he allows himself to indulge in his body against Harry’s. In the smile on the other man’s face, in the feeling of hands on his back and waist. Draco pulls back for a second, staring at Harry with a soft smile. Harry’s mouth morphs into a lopsided grin, and Draco feels the air rush out of his lungs. Harry is so unfairly handsome, so beautiful. He swallows. 

“We did it,” he murmurs to Harry, hands tightening around Harry’s back. He can’t believe they did it, can’t believe they fixed the mess this stupid box created. Fuck everything, he’s so incredibly happy like this. He loves Harry pressed against his own body, loves his messy hair and green eyes, loves his impatience and stubbornness, and he wants him so much. Harry is staring back at him, directly into his eyes, not saying anything and just  _ looking _ at him. Draco shivers with the intensity and snaps. He leans back in and breathes against Harry’s lips, making his intentions clear while still giving time for Harry to reject him. To say no. He doesn’t, instead rushing at Draco and joining their mouths together.

The kiss is searing, filling Draco with burning desire and need. There is no denying it; they are both insane. Insane to want this, to want each other, even after everything. Harry’s tongue probes his lips, and Draco opens with no hesitation. He groans at the first contact, and he shivers against Harry’s body. It’s so intense, so strong. Harry’s hands rub his back, up and down, and pull at the bottom of his shirt. Draco groans into his mouth and kisses back harder. Teeth clash slightly and he winces, and Harry murmurs an apology before going right back to his lips. 

It’s intoxicating, kissing Harry. He smells like smoke and sandalwood, and tastes of spices. His skin is so warm against Draco’s, his hands and tongue so determined. Draco can feel his cock filling out in his jeans, his lust unmistakable as the kiss deepens impossibly more. Harry rocks against him, drawing hisses from both of them as their clothed cocks come into contact. Draco digs his fingers into Harry’s skin and pulls his mouth away. He nuzzles at Harry’s jaw, burying his face in stubble. It scratches against his skin and he burns with the feeling.

Draco presses open-mouthed kisses all along Harry’s jaw, nipping the skin occasionally and then soothing it over with his tongue. Harry jerks beneath him, moaning at the mouth on him. Draco delights in the effect he’s having on him and redoubles his efforts. Harry’s hand threads through his hair, and he hums against his throat. He licks a stripe up Harry’s neck, loving the feeling of him under his tongue. 

“Holy fuck,” Harry manages. “You’re so good at this,” he says before tugging Draco’s head away and looking at him. “I’m so jealous.”

“Of?” Draco asks, breathless and voice hoarse. 

“Of all the other men you’ve had when I’ve only thought of you for ages,” Harry admits. He flushes a pretty red colour and kisses Draco again.

Draco pulls away. “How many people do you think I’ve slept with?” Draco asks, eyebrow raised. 

Harry tilts his head to the side, eyes lingering on Draco’s lips. It makes his ears bloom pink and Draco curses his pale skin and how easily Harry affects him. “Well, you go to clubs nearly every night, so I just assumed…” 

“You assumed I sleep with someone every night too?” Draco asks. When Harry remains silent he can’t hold in his laugh. “Just because I go dancing, it doesn’t mean I take someone home!”

“But- but- What about that time you came back with hickeys up your neck?” Harry asks.

Draco rolls his eyes. “And that was how long ago? And how many times has it happened?”

“Umm, a few months ago,” Harry mutters. “And not often at all,” he admits sheepishly.

“You’re jealous of no one! Besides, you’ve had actual relationships! Surely you had sex with them!”

Harry’s flush deepens against his terracotta skin. “Well, yeah… But that’s different!”

“How?” Draco chews his lip. He wants to get back to skin on skin, wants to get Harry naked and have them doing things much more worthwhile with their tongues. But Harry needs to talk, so he’s not going to rush him. 

“Because it just is! Draco, I’ve liked you for ages! Do you know how much it hurt seeing that?”

Draco freezes. “Do you think it was any easier for me to see you with other people attached to your side? What about all those times they kissed you in front of me? Harry, I needed some way to deal with that! So yes, I turned to strangers. But I didn’t think anything would ever happen between us so I wasn’t going to wait around.”

“You- you liked me?” 

“Don’t be daft Harry. Of course I did.  _ Do _ .”

Harry’s eyes widen and he smashes their mouths together again. Draco moans at the contact and clutches his hands at Harry’s head. “I didn’t realise until today,” Harry murmurs against his lips.

“Then you’re an idiot, because I’ve liked you for ages.”

“Well you didn’t exactly say anything either!”

Draco doesn’t want to admit how true that is. Doesn’t want to think about all the signs he ignored or missed over the years.

“Enough talk,” he says instead, before bringing their mouths together again. 

Harry groans against him and wastes no time in setting up a pace. The slide of lips and tongue, the heat of Harry’s mouth and skin, the press of his cock against Draco’s. Draco is going to go mad with this, with the push and pull they always seem to manage. He fists his hands in Harry’s shirt again, tugging at it and wishing he could rip it off to get to skin. He needs to see it, to feel it, to prove that what’s happening is real. To prove it’s not a daydream caused by exhaustion. 

Harry seems to feel the same way, pulling at Draco’s button-down. He jerks his hands in the black fabric and Draco feels it ripping. He swats at Harry’s hand, pulls his wand from his pocket, and Vanishes his shirt. It reappears somewhere behind him, but he doesn’t pay enough attention to know where. Harry immediately slides down his body, hands feeling him up and sparks coursing through Draco’s stomach and down to his groin. Harry sucks and licks down his neck, making his way to his chest. Draco heaves a breath and moans as he feels a tongue swirl around his nipple. He’s so hard it hurts, straining against his jeans. Harry sucks the whole nipple into his mouth, and it’s so incredibly warm and firm. Draco feels himself unravelling, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stand much longer.

“Ha- Harry,” he breathes. His hand curls in Harry’s hair, tugging it sharply. 

Harry hums but pulls off Draco’s nipple, looking up from where he’s awkwardly crouched. 

Draco jerks his head to the bed he Transfigured what seems like years ago, and steps away from Harry. He keeps his eyes on him as he walks backward, and soon Harry is prowling after him, smirking and eyes glinting. The backs of Draco’s knees hit the bed, and Harry pushes him down onto the mattress. The air leaves Draco’s lungs as he falls, and then Harry is jumping on him.

Harry pulls Draco back into a kiss, tongue swirling over his bottom lip and nipping it sharply. The pain mixed in with the pleasure makes Draco moan, and he rocks his hips upward. Harry groans above him and presses down, their hard cocks coming into contact through their jeans. Draco runs his hands down Harry’s back, scratching at the skin slightly as Harry kisses down his neck and chest again. As he sucks in the nipple once again, Draco moves his hand into Harry’s hair and tugs, remembering his reaction the first time he did it. 

Harry moans around his skin, and Draco’s head tips back against the mattress. The mouth on his chest doesn’t stop, it sucks hard and moves to the other nipple, scraping teeth against it and then soothing it over with a tongue. Draco sees stars and his eyes fall shut. Harry’s mouth lifts off his nipple and Draco groans at the missing sensation, only for his breath to catch as Harry licks a line straight down his chest to his waist line. The tongue traces imaginary lines up Draco’s stomach and chest, licking and kissing and sucking. Until Draco realises they aren’t imaginary at all; they’re the Sectumsempra scars. 

Harry’s seen them before, it’s not like he didn't know they were there, so Draco doesn’t know why he’s bothering. They’ve spoken about it before—Harry with apologies and Draco with reassurances that he doesn’t care in the slightest—but Harry has never been able to drop it. Draco grips the hair is his hands, pulling hard. Harry moans and licks harder, more furtively. It rips a moan from Draco, and he decides to leave it until after.  _ After.  _ That’s a strange thing to think about with his friend and colleague mouthing at him. 

Draco arches off the bed as Harry leaves his scars and returns to his waist line, palming him roughly. Draco cries out with the pressure, so perfect against his neglected cock. Suddenly he isn’t naked enough. There isn’t enough skin, and there is way too much clothing. He shuffles under Harry, removing his hands from black hair and dropping them to his belt. He begins unbuckling it, but Harry stops him with his hand over Draco’s own. Harry gazes up at Draco, green eyes darkened with lust and face flushed, and then undoes it himself. He tugs the skinny jeans off Draco’s legs, denim dragging against sensitive skin. 

The jeans are thrown off somewhere, landing with a soft thud even as Harry bends to blow over Draco’s underwear. Draco keens, voice breaking with the warm air rushing over his cock. His hands tumble back into Harry’s hair, gripping hard. Harry takes it as encouragement and nuzzles against him, making Draco cry out. Draco thrusts his hips up, rocking against Harry’s face. Harry sighs against him and breathes deeply, inhaling Draco’s scent. Draco is out of his mind, his whole world narrowing down to Harry between his legs. He shivers, and Harry seems to decide he’s had enough.

Harry lifts his head, presses a kiss to the inside of Draco’s thighs, and tugs his pants off. Draco gasps at the cold air suddenly on his bare cock, but it doesn’t last long as Harry sucks him down immediately. Draco feels his eyes glaze over and he bucks into Harry’s mouth. The last thing he had expected was to be deep throated right off the bat, but he can’t imagine anything better. Harry wraps his tongue around Draco’s cock and starts bobbing his head. 

The heat is delicious, and when Harry hollows his cheeks—sucking so hard Draco nearly screams—Draco realises that this won’t last long. He bucks up into Harry’s mouth again, his pubic bone hitting Harry’s face. Harry grunts but doesn’t stop, instead moving his hands onto Draco’s hips to stop him thrusting. Draco tips his head, thrashing around side to side on the mattress. Harry sucks harder, his hand pumping the base in time with his bobbing head. Draco’s balls tighten, drawing up almost painfully with his need to come. 

Harry pulls off, presses kisses down Draco’s stomach and thighs, and pushes himself onto his hands above him. 

“Hi,” he says, and Draco feels a rush of affection for the man. Quickly followed by annoyance at being brought so close to the edge just to have it abruptly stop. 

“ _ Harry _ ,” he tries to say with some force behind it, but it comes out more like a moan. 

“Didn’t want you to come just yet,” Harry responds to the unasked question. 

He bends down so he’s doing a push up over Draco and joins their mouths together. Draco groans when he tastes himself on Harry’s tongue, and his hips buck up without any warning. Harry laughs against his lips and then rolls over onto his side. Draco watches wordlessly as Harry spells his own shirt and jeans away, and then pulls his pants off. 

Harry’s cock is beautiful. It’s so thick Draco can imagine it splitting himself in half, and decently long enough. There’s a circle of trimmed hair around the base, and all Draco wants to do is bury his face in it.

He pushes himself up and on top of Harry, nuzzling his jaw and sucking at the marks he left there earlier. Now that his chest is exposed, Draco can’t control the urge to kiss and bite every inch of it. He swirls his tongue down Harry’s jaw and neck, licking up his throat and mouthing at his pulse point. Harry shivers and moans beneath him, his hands rising to Draco’s hair and sliding between the strands. Draco delights in the pressure and doubles his efforts. 

There’s a strange scar at the hollow of Harry’s throat; one they’ve never spoken about before. Draco doesn’t remember ever seeing it, and that’s strange for Harry. He doesn’t usually hide his scars. Regardless, Draco bends down and kisses it all over, swirling his tongue around the circular burn mark. Harry writhes under him and Draco feels dizzy with it. Harry tastes so good, his skin salty and clean. Draco hums as he continues his way down, tracing the lines of Harry’s body with his mouth. He wants this to be good for the other man, wants it to be an experience. 

Draco slides down, his groin pressing into Harry’s. The slide of their bare cocks together is glorious—hot, heavy, and slippery with saliva. Draco wants to rock himself against Harry, to just hold on to the man below him and grind their orgasms out. But he won’t, he needs this to be better than that. So Draco doesn’t stop, he just shuffles his hips backwards and bends lower, mouth trailing down Harry’s chest and stomach now. 

There’s a line of hair beneath Harry’s belly button, tracking all the way down to his cock. Draco pushes his tongue through it, moaning at the way it feels in his mouth. Harry’s body is so beautiful, so perfect as far as Draco is concerned. He can’t believe they were stupid enough not to realise they felt the same way. 

Draco slides down further, pressing open mouthed kisses down Harry’s navel and thighs. Harry wriggles beneath him, desperately trying to get any form of friction on his cock. Draco doesn’t allow him, mouthing against his skin everywhere but where he wants it most. Draco delights in the torture he’s causing, and gently bites the top of Harry’s thigh. Harry yelps but then moans when Draco’s tongue soothes it over. Draco could do this all day. 

Harry doesn’t have all day though, and as his hips become less patient Draco finds that he would rather give Harry what he wants. What he needs. Draco runs a finger delicately up Harry’s cock, stroking the single digit up to the top. It rests right below the head, teasing Harry. Harry grunts at the too-light pressure and rocks his hips up. Draco pulls his finger away and tuts at Harry. 

Harry groans but stills, and Draco’s hand returns. This time it’s his entire hand, and he wraps his fist around Harry’s cock. Harry gasps and moans at the sensation, and Draco squeezes ever so gently. He starts to move his hand, pumping the shaft carefully but firmly. He squeezes tighter at the base, trying to stall Harry’s orgasm, and twists his wrist at the top. He has Harry keening under him in seconds.

“Fuck, Draco, please!” Harry shouts. 

“Please what?” Draco teases. He knows exactly what Harry wants. Knows it with the way Harry’s eyes flicker to his mouth, knows it with the way Harry keeps licking his lips. 

“Fu-fuck. Your mouth!”

“My mouth… where?” Draco smirks. “Back on your lips?” He leans forward, hovering over Harry’s mouth. 

Harry whimpers but shakes his head. 

“What about on your neck? Or your chest?” Draco leans down further, breathing against the skin he’s already marked and grinning when Harry shudders. 

“No? Tell me Harry, where do you want my mouth?”

“Draco!” Harry shouts as Draco twists his hand particularly hard. “My cock! Your mouth on my cock!”

“Are you sure?” Draco asks, mocking. 

Harry nearly cries, and Draco watches as tears form in the corner of his squeezed eyes. “Positive, come on,” Harry groans. 

Draco gives in and smirks. He shuffles further down Harry’s legs and breathes over his exposed cock. Harry shivers and moans. Draco licks a stripe from the base to the tip, humming in satisfaction the whole way. Harry tastes just as good here as he does everywhere else. Draco mouths up and down the shaft, his tongue occasionally poking out and licking along the skin. Each time Harry gasps and groans, Draco rewards him with a swipe of his thumb across the slit. Draco loves Harry being loud, loves hearing just how much he’s affecting the other man. 

When Harry gives a frustrated moan and grinds against Draco’s face, Draco finally slides his lips around the head. It’s soft and spongy in his mouth, and he sucks hard, hollowing his cheeks. Harry’s voice catches in his throat, and Draco takes him down further. His own cock leaks against the mattress, but he doesn’t allow himself to move. After Harry bringing him so close and then leaving him, Draco wants to get his revenge. He also doesn’t want to ruin his orgasm by rutting against the sheets instead of, say, Harry’s cock. 

Draco slides down as far as he can, his hand circling around the base and squeezing gently. His other hand moves up to play with Harry’s balls, and he starts bobbing his head. He drags his lips over the sensitive skin, tongue peeking out and joining his lips around the head. He pumps his hand in time with his mouth, going fast and bringing Harry close to the edge. Then he slows down, dragging Harry away. The hands in his hair tighten and relax over and over. Draco could go mad with the pressure on his head. It’s one of the reasons he likes doing this; along with how good Harry tastes on his tongue, of course. 

Harry grips hard, his hips stuttering forward in Draco’s mouth. 

“Fuck!” Harry gasps. His voice is weak and strained, and Draco hums in appreciation. “I’m gonna- gonna come soon.”

Draco doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull off. Instead, he sucks harder, speeds up. He plays with Harry’s balls, tickling and massaging the skin. He curls his tongue around the head of Harry’s cock and licks deep into the slit. Precome settles on his tongue and he moans at the taste. 

“Draco!” Harry pulls hard, his fingers tearing at Draco’s hair. 

Draco hums again, nodding his head and telling Harry he can come down his throat, without words. That he  _ wants _ him to. 

“Fuck Draco!” Harry shouts. 

His hips rock forward, thrusting his cock deeper into Draco’s throat. Draco gags slightly but doesn’t say anything, and then Harry’s coming. His come shoots out of his cock, sliding down Draco’s throat. Draco swallows it all and sucks gently, milking Harry’s orgasm.

The hand in his hair goes lax, and then he’s being hauled up to Harry’s face. Harry stares at him for a moment, green eyes dark and content, and pulls him down for a kiss. Harry’s lips are pliant and smooth, red with exertion and pleasure; Draco goes dizzy at the thought that he alone made Harry this way. Harry cards his hands through Draco’s hair gently, and Draco sighs into his mouth. Harry’s tongue runs through Draco’s mouth, presumably tasting himself on Draco’s tongue. 

Draco absentmindedly rocks himself against Harry’s thigh, and Harry chuckles when he feels it. 

“Let’s take care of you properly now,” he promises. Harry rolls them around so he’s above Draco, and slides his hand down his body again. Draco groans as Harry’s hand wraps around his leaking cock. He’s so hard now it’s painful, and he’s desperate to come after being so cruelly ignored. 

“You like that don’t you?” Harry murmurs as he twists his wrist around the head of Draco’s cock. “What do you want?” He asks, breath ghosting against Draco’s face.

Draco just moans, head lolling to the side and hips grinding into Harry’s hand. 

“That’s not an answer, now is it?” Harry teases. His mouth sucks onto Draco’s neck, and Draco arches into him. 

“What do you want?” Harry repeats. He sucks hard, marking Draco’s neck and soothing it over with his tongue. Draco’s neck is going to be all shades of purple tomorrow. Harry’s won’t be any better.

“Just- just don’t stop,” Draco eventually breathes out, gasping at the pressure of Harry’s hand. 

“Nothing special?” Harry asks, keeping his hand pumping evenly.

“No, your hand is fine,” Draco groans. “I’m so close already.”

Harry grunts at the admission and bends to lick all over Draco’s jaw and throat. He pumps his hand faster, gaining speed and strength the longer it lasts. Draco feels his orgasm rapidly approaching, and he can’t stop himself babbling. 

“Fuck Harry,” he mutters. “Love your hand on me. Love your mouth on me. Don’t stop.”

Harry gasps at the words but does as commanded. 

“Don’t stop. I’m so close Harry.”

Harry’s hand speeds up, twisting at the head and squeezing at the base. 

“Fuck.” 

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry murmurs. “So so beautiful it’s not fair.”

Draco groans, eyes falling shut and hips bucking. He’s so hot. His blood feels like fire, pounding in his ears. Sweat drips down his forehead and his hair is a mess, but Harry’s hand and words and mouth make him feel so good. 

“I’m- I’m gonna-”

“Come for me, Draco.”

Draco does. His back arches off the mattress, his chest colliding with Harry’s above him. His vision blacks and spots, and all he can think about is Harry’s hand on his cock. He shudders as the ropes of come leave his body, hitting Harry’s chest and Draco’s own stomach. Draco gasps and shivers, and Harry’s hands run up and down his body. 

“Bloody hell. You’re incredible,” Harry says. He kisses Draco’s limp body, and Draco has just enough energy left to return it. 

“Not so bad yourself,” Draco returns. He hums. “You’d be better if you cleaned me up.”

Harry laughs against his lips but wandlessly casts a cleaning charm. Draco rolls his eyes fondly at the display and pulls Harry down on top of him. Harry looks like he’s going to protest, but Draco silences him by wrapping his arms around his back. 

“Just hold me,” Draco whispers. 

“Never would have imagined that Draco Malfoy was a cuddler.” Draco feels Harry grin against him, but he returns the embrace anyway. 

At some point Harry rolls them onto their sides, and shuffles around so his chest is to Draco’s back. Draco sighs at the warmth against his skin and burrows into it. Harry pulls the covers up over them, and Draco feels him wriggling under them. Draco moans mockingly, an echo of a few minutes ago. Harry’s silent laugh brushes against his back, and Draco smiles as he drifts off to sleep. 

^~^~^

**6:17am, 25th of November 2015**

Harry blinks his eyes open slowly, trying to work out where he is. When he realises he’s pressed up against someone, he jumps. He never wakes up with someone else, so something must be wrong. But as his eyes somewhat focus, he realises it’s Draco. Then he realises that they’re both naked, and the panic rises again. There’s no way this is happening. No way. Draco would never like him back; not in a thousand years. Meaning whatever clearly happened, must not have been consensual. 

“I can feel you worrying,” Draco grumbles from where his head is pressed into the pillow. “Stop it.”

Harry pauses. Draco doesn’t sound particularly concerned. Was it consensual…?

“I thought I’d told you to stop,” Draco says. His voice is rough with sleep and his hair is mussed against the pillow. 

Harry exhales deeply and breathes the other man in. “Okay,” he whispers. He is suddenly overcome with the desire to press against Draco’s back, and he doesn’t even think about it as he does exactly that.

Draco sighs contentedly and Harry is so unbelievably happy. His arms tighten around Draco’s shoulders and back, and he smiles into his neck. He can’t believe he’s here, waking up next to Draco. Harry’s heart could explode with how glad he is about how things worked out.

“Good morning gentlemen,” a voice says from the other side of the room.

Harry jumps, startled at the sound. He rolls away from Draco and gathers the sheets over himself. It’s bitterly cold now that he’s not in Draco’s body warmth. He grabs around for his glasses, hands hitting covers and nothing hard enough to be his metal frames. Draco passes them to him after a sound like metal hitting skin. 

“Did you…?” 

“Yes,” Draco answers. 

Trust Draco Malfoy to wordlessly summon his bloody glasses from Merlin-knows-where, and then act like it’s nothing special. 

Now that Harry can see, he realises that it isn’t a person speaking to them. Not exactly, at least. Instead of a person, three silvery cats sit on the stone floor.

“I have some good news for you both. The storms have finally broken and the swamp has been completely drained. Everything is back in order, and I would like to have a word with you in my office. Come as soon as possible.” The silver-blue cats finish their speech, and then stand up. They walk over to Harry in neat little steps, tails flicking gently. Just as Harry lowers a hand to stroke them, they turn and run away. 

“Damn cats,” Harry grumbles. 

“Well what did you expect? Not only are they cats, but they’re also  _ McGonagall’s  _ cats.”

Harry has to agree that Draco has a point. 

He rolls off the bed, shivering in the freezing cold morning, and summons his clothes. They arrive at his feet jumbled up and mostly inside out, and he grumbles under his breath as he sets them to rights and then puts them on. 

“Honestly, you’re a wizard Potter. There are spells for that,” Draco jokes as he walks into view, already dressed with his clothes crisp. 

“Back to Potter, am I?” He asks. “You didn’t seem to mind calling me Harry with my mouth or hand around your cock.”

He watches as Draco blushes, a beautiful red stain on his pale cheeks. Harry smiles as he finishes dressing. 

“Yeah well, just because I’ve slept with you doesn’t mean I have to call you by your first name.”

Harry freezes. That hurts more than he wants to admit, and he tries to hide it as he walks for the door. He lasts all of two seconds before bursting. “What? So last night meant nothing to you? After everything we said, nothing changes?” 

He hears Draco swallow. “I don’t know what you want, Harry,” he murmurs. “There’s no way I’m what you want.”

“But you are!” Harry exclaims, turning from the door. “You’re everything I’ve wanted for years!”

He watches Draco duck his head. “Okay.”

Harry cocks his head. “Okay? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Draco says, suddenly cheery again. “Just that you’re going to take me out for dinner tonight.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “It’s Wednesday.”

“And?” Draco doesn’t say anything else, just pushes past Harry and stalks out of the door. Harry shakes his head on a silent laugh and follows him through. A second later, he pokes his head back in the door, summons the wooden box, and then sets off after Draco again.

++

**6:24am**

“Good morning gentlemen,” Headmistress McGonagall says when they make it into her office. “Glad to see you’re up bright and early.”

Harry really wants to roll his eyes and bring up the fact that without her Patronus, he would have gone right back to sleep, but he’s still terrified of the woman. There’s no way he’s getting on her bad side; especially not after he nearly drowned her castle. 

“Of course, Headmistress. You wanted to see us?” Trust Draco to have the energy to be polite at such an ungodly hour. 

“Indeed I did,” McGonagall says. “Now, I know that what happened was an accident, so I don’t blame anyone for it. However, I do think that next time some more precautions should be put in place beforehand, yes?”

She waits for them to nod, and Harry does so feeling very much like when he crashed the Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow way back in Second Year. 

“Good. I’ve already communicated with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and they have promised me they’d take a look at the spellwork again. One of my own theories is that the charms reacted to some of Hogwarts’ wards. If that proves to be the case, prototype testing may have to be banished from the grounds.”

Harry’s eyes widen. There’s no way she can do that! Except… it wouldn’t really matter. Harry could just test them somewhere else—somewhere more isolated—and it’s not like she said the entire line of products. Just the prototypes. He hurriedly nods in agreement. Nothing would be too different anyway.

McGonagall smiles softly at him, and then turns to Draco. “Mr Malfoy, you’ll have to tell me about the spells you used to stop the box’s uncontrolled magic,” she says. “It sounds very complicated, and I would love to hear how you did it.”

“Of course, Headmistress.” Draco is hiding a smile, and Harry’s heart warms at the sight of him being praised.

“You too, Mr Potter. Those shields you constructed were unbelievable.”

Harry blushes, his dark skin flushing with red. 

McGonagall nods at both of them. “Now that that’s out of the way… I hope you’ve brought the box with you?”

Harry holds it up from where his hands were clasped behind his back. He very carefully brings it closer to her and places it on her desk. The last thing he needs is for something to happen, and make everything start again. 

The Headmistress glares at the box, eyes shooting daggers at the wood that nearly destroyed her school. Harry can imagine the box splintering under her gaze. He watches as she pulls her wand out of her sleeve and aims it at the box. Her lips barely move, forming a word Harry has no chance of hearing, and a streak of aqua light cuts through the air. It spirals for the box and when it hits, the wood melts into a pile on her desk. She Vanishes it without a second thought.

“There we go gentlemen. That box will never trouble you again,” she smiles, tucking her wand back in her sleeve and taking a seat. “I would offer you tea, but I believe you have classes you need to go prepare for.”

Next to Harry, Draco nods enthusiastically. 

“Before you go, boys,” she says, a gleam in her eye, “I thought I should mention that the bruises on your necks are quite prominent. I would cover them before the students see, if I were you.”

Harry’s blush returns so quickly his head spins. Draco coughs awkwardly and grabs Harry’s hand. Harry is pulled from the office before he can do anything but splutter at the Headmistress. 

^~^~^

_ ~Fin~ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave a comment and kudos! They really make my day Xx


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